


Prophecy, Psychometry, Mediumship, & More

by Pen99



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Minimal Varric/Bianca, Psychic Abilities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-19 19:59:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17008230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pen99/pseuds/Pen99
Summary: Varric, a non-believer, meets Hawke, a self-proclaimed “non-psychic”.Or, how Varric, in an attempt to win Bianca’s heart, falls in love with Hawke instead.





	Prophecy, Psychometry, Mediumship, & More

**Author's Note:**

  * For [calysto1395](https://archiveofourown.org/users/calysto1395/gifts).



ACT 1

Chapter 1: Foot-Traffic

     One thing about Hightown? It was not foot-traffic friendly.

    In Hightown, Varric was a nuisance. Well. More of a nuisance than in Lowtown, anyhow. He was a pedestrian by blood; unseemly among the lavish carriages.

     The main street into Hightown had no pedway. Which left Varric to wander along the main road. It was highly impractical by design. Hightown was Hightown. It was as the people were: inaccessible, unless privileged. Varric wasn’t a Harimann. Or a Dumar. Or, even a Davri, blessed be The Maker. He wasn’t from a family of wealth. He was a Tethras. And Tethras’ hoofed it to Hightown; despite the effort to keep him out.

    Varric didn’t mind it. He understood it. He belonged here, albeit not by blood. Most who resided in Hightown were born to it; Hightown belonged to them from birth. But, that wasn’t applicable to all. It, too, belonged to the exceptional. To the select few that hadn’t the birthright, but the talent and the ambition. Varric had yet to warrant it; but he had the capacity for the exceptional. He’d win them over. Eventually. But, for now, he didn’t have to. For now, Master Davri would do. After all, he too had come from nothing. Not that it did Varric any good.

     Master Davri disliked Varric. He’d disliked him from their initial meeting. Varric had begun courting his daughter, the lovely Bianca, February of last year. At first, he’d been confident that Master Davri would let up. Varric was no dullard. Quick witted and sharp; Varric had a lot to offer the sophisticated Bianca. But, time passed, and Varric was no longer self-assured. It was possible; Master Davri wasn’t an impossible man. But, Varric had yet to figure him out.

    Varric hadn’t seen his Beloved in over a week. He and his brother, Bartrand, had been busy. A new governing seat had opened on the Merchant’s Guild. And Bartrand was hell-bent on getting the Tethras name out for election. By the week end, they were on the ballot. They had a decent shot. Their father had been in the Guild. When he passed, he’d been replaced. But, few in The Guild had forgotten. It was just a matter of jogging their memory. And Varric, a decent storyteller, was happy to oblige.

     Having a seat on The Guild would hardly land Varric in Hightown. But, it wasn’t anything to scoff at. If anything, his election was worth mentioning to Master Davri. The Guild had a reputation, even in Hightown. And, if Master Davri was not impressed, Bianca would be. Varric couldn’t ask for more than her support. He didn’t need anything, apart from her love.

    Which. Yeah. If that sounded like it had been taken straight from a terrible romance, it was because it had been. Varric was an author; and Bianca, his favorite muse. When it came to her, Varric was a serial romantic. He’d written their love story in a dozen different ways. Varric had yet to tire of it. Maybe one day he’d have enough material to publish. But, for now, Varric was happy with his audience of one. His Beloved delighted in their tale. Varric, eager to please her, provided.

     As an afterthought, Varric wished he’d scribbled something down for her. He’d been too busy with The Guild. He’d hoped the news of his election would be enough for her today.

    He wouldn’t typically do it. But, Varric was eager to reach the Davri Estate; eager to share his impending bump in status. And so, Varric departed from the main road. He wasn’t familiar with the side streets of Hightown. But, fighting the traffic was proving tiresome. And Varric doubted that he’d lose significant time. It was Hightown; the most heavily patrolled part of Kirkwall. With a Guard on every corner, Varric doubted he’d find himself in any trouble.

     In that, however, Varric was wrong.

     Varric was hardly a block off Main Street when he ran into a spot of commotion. About 30 feet ahead, Varric spotted several young men. They appeared to be well dressed, each an obvious denizen of Hightown. But, unlike most, they were menacing in stature. If he was in Lowtown, he’d call them thuggish. He’d turn tail and run.

    But, Varric was in Hightown. He wasn’t in danger. Not physically. However, if Varric got involved with Hightown youth, he’d likely end up punished. Bystander or not. Unlike them, Varric had no sway with the law of Hightown.

     Ahead, one of the youth laughed. He mimed the motion of a pitcher, winding his arm up in an unskilled arch. His laugher from the pitch was drowned out by a CRASH; the pitched object shattering the front window of a nearby mansion.

     Varric calmed. It was a juvenile destruction of property; which wasn’t great. But, also, not a considerable threat. Or, it wasn’t, until the front door to the mansion swung open, and a woman stepped out. The woman, dark-skinned and adorned with jingling baubles, leaped from her hearth. With surprising speed, she bound toward the youth. The youth chuckled and jerreed at her enthusiasm. Their jeering died, however, when the woman neared. She was armed, a large kitchen knife clutched in her fist. She thrashed wildly, swiping the knife in a looping arch.      

     The youth, suddenly more terrified than thuggish, took off running. Unfortunately for Varric, they were headed in his direction.

    “Cowardice!” The woman yelped, brandishing her knife. “Fight me!”

    Two of the vandals had almost reached Varric; the other lagged behind, pursued by the woman. Spotting Varric in the center of the lane, the two in the lead parted slightly. They misjudged Varric’s width, however, clipping either of his shoulders as they whizzed by. The last youth, the one who broke the window, had almost caught up.

      “Outta my way!” The vandal shouted. “Witch’ll eat me alive!”

     On a whim, Varric outstretched an arm. He was in a good mood; his impending seat on The Guild top of mind. And, truly, Varric had enough of this child. As Varric had intended, the last vandal collided into him. The vandal lost his balance and landed on his ass; almost knocking Varric over with his momentum. He skidded down the cobbled road, but quickly righted himself.

     The woman, who had slowed to watch the fall, stopped abruptly in front of Varric. He hadn’t quite caught the vandal, but Varric had slowed him down. The vandal limped down the street, swaying heavily to the left side. The woman ceased her pursuit. Instead, she hollered obscenities in their direction.

     “I’ll cut your balls from your body!” The woman yelled. She had an accent. Up close, Varric got a better look at her. He recognized her to be Rivaini. “Do you hear me? You come by here again and your children will be sired by other men! I’ll see to it!”

     The woman paused and turned to Varric. “And you!”

     On reflex, Varric jumped back and away from the knife-wielder.

     “How do you play into this? Who are you?” She eyed him skeptically. The knife was still in her hand; a fact, to which, Varric was quite cognizant. “And what are you doing in Hightown? You don’t belong here.”

     “Ouch.” Varric said. Before answering, he appraised her bauble-covered outfit and unkept way of dress. She wasn’t dirty, but she was disheveled. Additionally, the woman was woefully underdressed for the late October weather. “I’d say the same for you. But, then again, I just watched you pull a knife on children for vandalizing your mansion. So, maybe not.”

    “Children?” the woman asked. Tension rested between them for a moment. But, after a charged staring match, the woman tucked the knife away into her belt and laughed. “If they are children, then I am the Viscount of Kirkwall.”

     Internally, Varric heaved a sigh of relief.    

    “I’ve met the Viscount.” Varric said. He happily embraced the change in atmosphere. “You’d definitely be an improvement.”

    “I truly hope that wasn’t a pickup line.” She said and laid a hand on top of her hip. On top of her knife, Varric noted as an afterthought. “It wouldn’t bode for your sanity. I’ve shown you my knife. And my hospitality toward men who arrive, unwanted, at my doorstep.”

    “No. It wasn’t.” Varric amended. “I already have a—I’m Varric. And my heart isn’t my own to give. I’ve promised it to another.” He reached out a hand. “Forgive me. But, I’d take a knife-wielding lunatic over a civil servant any day. I meant no offense.”

    “And I’ve taken no offense.” The woman offered with a smile. She took his hand between her own. “I only meant to jest. I’m Isabela.”

     “I’m Varric.” He reiterated.

     “As you’ve said.” Isabela smirked and let their handshake drop. “Well, Varric. I could have handled them myself. Is that clear?”

    “Certainly.” He said. “If you were to turn that knife on me you’d find me unarmed and underequipped.” Varric paused and added a rueful addendum. “That wasn’t a challenge. I don’t have anything you’d want.”

     “Oh. Of that, I’m sure.” Isabela said. “I didn’t need you. I would have fared better on my own. Maybe even caught one; if you hadn’t intervened. But, you helped me out. I didn’t ask for help, but you offered it. You’re either noble or stupid.”

     “Why must I choose?” Varric teased. “Have you not heard of the Valiant Idiot? He bested a dragon, an army, and a wrathful goat all for the hand of an unobtainable maiden? It’s quite the story.”

     “I haven’t. But, I am intrigued. Why don’t you come inside?” She motioned over her shoulder and toward the mansion down the block. “I could make tea. You could regale me with a tale of this Valiant Idiot. And in return, I may regale you with a tale of my own.”

     “You’re a storyteller?” Varric asked, his excitement blatant.

     “In a way.” The woman smirked. “I am a Seer; trained in the art of tasseomancy.”

     “Tasseomancy?” Varric asked.

     “I read tealeaves.” Isabela clarified. “Though, it doesn’t have to be tea. If you are not fond, coffee or wax will do. But, I prefer tea. The Leaves are capable of mirroring our experiences— including those which have yet to occur. They can tell a story. Your story, in fact.”

     “You’re a witch.” Varric said, thrown by Isabela’s sudden revelation.

     The woman shrugged. “A Seer. Yes.”

     Varric was unsettled. Those who practiced the arcane were not unheard of in Kirkwall. Though, Varric himself knew none. Most kept to the shadows; their dealing done in secret. But, a witch—Seer—in Hightown? Certainly, the city didn’t approve. Varric thought back to the children vandalizing Isabela’s mansion. It would seem to not be a random act, after all. But, instead, a reaction to an unwanted presence in the community. Although Varric didn’t agree, he understood. He hadn’t dealt in magic thus far, and he had no intention to.

     “I shouldn’t.” Varric said, distancing himself from Isabela. “I’m off to see my Beloved, see? And, I’ve already kept her waiting. I shouldn’t let her rot. I am grateful for the offer; however, I must decline.”

     “Too bad.” Isabela said, unfazed by Varric and his discomfort. Regrettably, Varric recognized that his reaction was not uncommon in Kirkwall; just another man with a prejudice. “But, if that is what you wish, then let it be. I will not dissuade you. But, if you change your mind. And do become curious about your future.” Isabela turned her back to Varric. “You know where to find me.”    

    Isabela, with a parting wave over her shoulder, retreated toward her mansion. Varric watched her leave, waiting until she had closed her front door before heading in the same direction. The delay was necessary, as Varric didn’t want to follow her down the street.

     When Varric passed by the mansion, he couldn’t help but give it an appraisal. On closer inspection, it wasn’t in as good a shape as the surrounding buildings. It wasn’t shabby, not compared to housing in Lowtown, but it wasn’t on par with the neighborhood. The house was set back from the curb, red brickwork with a high-pitched roof accompanied by molding timbers.

     The most notable part of the property wasn’t the house, but the large garden seated in front of the house. It was held in by an iron gate. Fixed to a post of the gate was a sign. Varric neared it to get a good look.

“Amell Psychic Institute”

“Prophecy – Psychometry – Mediumship – & More”

 

     Chapter 2: The Suitor

     It was nearly sunset; Varric and Bianca were seated together atop the Davri’s terrace. The promise of night was upon them, but it was still too early. The days were far too short, and the nights far to lonesome. As the sun hit the skyline, Varric reached out to his Beloved. When no resistance came from Bianca, he placed his hands atop hers; shielding her from the harsh bite of early November. Bianca didn’t react to his chivalry, absorbing his warmth without comment. It wasn’t a surprise to Varric. Bianca had been reserved all afternoon, leaving room for Varric to vent.

    Varric had been wrong, for the second time that day. Despite his earlier claim, Varric _could_ ask for more than Bianca’s support. And, an hour previous, he’d tried and failed to ask for Master Davri’s. Dinner with her father hadn’t been the victory Varric had fantasized it to be. Master Davri hadn’t shown the slightest interest in the Elevation of the Tethras name. Far from congratulating Varric, he found a way to highlight the gap between Varric’s status and his own.

     “In the land of the blind,” Master Davri had said. “the one-eyed man is king.”

     His message was clear: even Varric, with limited talent and limited status, would be considered special by those with no talent or status. The Guild was not good enough. Not for Master Davri. And not for his daughter. Varric would remain a nobody, until he was known to those who matter; known among the nobility of Hightown. And Varric just wasn’t there yet, despite his most recent win.

     “You’d think he’d, at the very least, pretend to be happy for me.” Varric grumbled, absentmindedly running a thumb along the inside of Bianca’s wrist. “I know I’m not up for Viscount, but a Deshyr ought to be worth something!”

     “You doubt yourself?” Bianca said, flipping her wrist upward and intertwining their fingers. She’d heard Varric spout the same rhetoric for the past hour. Varric knew he was repeating himself, but in the moment, he didn’t much care. Despite it all, Varric admired her patience. “Self-pity doesn’t suit you Varric.”   

     Varric, ignoring her jest, pushed onward. “This isn’t Orzammar, no matter how much he’d like it to be. Klan Tethras and Klan Davri started here on equal ground, and he’d do well to remember it. He’s no more Kirkwallian than I am!”

     “You’d resent me for my title?” Bianca asked, stone-faced, but with no real malice. “What would you do, Varric? For us to be on equal ground. You’d wish away my inheritance? The life I have been given?”

    “You know I wouldn’t.” Varric said, squeezing her hand and momentarily sobering from his fit of overbearing anger. “I’d never jeopardize your happiness. I am just frustrated that your father would forget his own story. His own legacy.”

     “And he hasn’t.” She scoffed, annoyed. “I love you, and I know how you’ve worked. But, you’re not him.”

     “Thank the Maker for that.” Varric grumbled. Despite himself, in the pit of his stomach, he knew his words rang hollow.

     “Be patient, Varric.” Bianca craned her neck upward, now whispering into the crook of his jaw. “Continue to prove yourself, and in the meantime, I’ll be here. Every step of the way.”

     She placed a cold, yet manicured, hand atop his cheek. With a small tug, Bianca called him toward her.

     “I’m quite proud of you, Deshyr Tethras.” She purred, before dragging him into a soft kiss. “Can’t this be enough for now?”

     “I suppose.” Varric responded, returning her affection. “But, a reminder couldn’t hurt.”  

      They spent the next several minutes together. Curled against one another, stealing kisses in the cold dark of the late November afternoon. When the time was appropriate, Bianca pulled away, returning to a respectable distance. She tugged at her hair, pulling her once messy bun down on her broad shoulders.  

     “There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.” She hesitated. “I wished to tell you earlier in the week, but you’ve been busy, and I hadn’t the opportunity. However, I’m afraid, now, that I’ve waited too long. I don’t want you to be upset with me for waiting.”

     “I don’t like the sound of that.” Varric teased, drowning his gnawing panic in humor. “How about all that ‘I’m proud of you, Deshyr Tethras’ crap? Can we go back to that?”

     “I’m being serious” Bianca said, swatting at him. “It’ll be best if you hear it from me and not elsewhere.”

    “You’ve got my full attention.” Varric said and paused thoughtfully. “Well, most of it. Part of it is still focused on a minute ago, when I had my hand against your—”

     “I rode carriage through the square on Monday.” Bianca said, eyes on the dark skyline. “I was accompanied by a Lord.”

    “A lord?” Varric asked, confused. “Which Lord?”

     “He’s not anyone you’d know.” Bianca said hurriedly. “A family friend; an employee really. He works for Father. Just ‘stopped by’, apparently. But I saw through that. Didn’t appreciate being lied to.”

      “A Lord?” Varric repeated. “A lord stopped by the Manor, at your Father’s request, and took you on a carriage ride?”

      “Yes. Through the square” Bianca said, shaking her head in confirmation. “But, you mustn’t worry. I haven’t taken to him. We’ve only been out the one time, and he didn’t seem all that interested. Nor was I, obviously.” She amended. “He’d come from the West side, and I wouldn’t dare turn him away. I didn’t want to be impolite.”

     “Oh! You didn’t want to be impolite.” Varric scoffed, and pulled away from the bench they had been occupying. “I know you Bianca. You’re no dullard. You don’t have to play dumb with me.” 

     “Watch your tone!” Bianca growled. “I won’t be spoken to like that.”

     “Your father is lining up men for your courtship! And what?” Varric fumed, returning to his earlier rage. “You aren’t even bothered?”

     “I never said I wasn’t!” Bianca spat, jumping up from her seat and matching him in height. “Don’t speak for me.”

      “What did you say to him? Your Father?” Varric asked, followed by a sadistic laugh. “What did he say? When you reminded him of our Great Love?”

     Bianca froze, and cast her gaze downward. Varric knew how to read people. And, unfortunately, he knew exactly what that meant.  

     “Did you even protest?” Varric whispered. “Or did you concede without argument. Anything to please him, right? Maker Bianca, you’re so predictable.”   

     “And you’re cruel.” Bianca said, voice unwavering. “You don’t want to listen. You just want to be angry. So, be angry then, Varric!” She threw her arms into the air in a dramatic gesture, one that Varric couldn’t have written better himself. “I’m not going to apologize for a carriage ride through the square. Nor will I apologize for having a life apart from you.”

     She turned away from him and hunched her shoulders. Only then did Varric realize, for the first time, how truly upset Bianca had become. How their argument had turned into a one-sided shouting match. Varric didn’t wish to see her quite so hurt. He loved her, dearly, and needed to amend it, somehow.  

     “Wait.” Varric lowered his voice, apologetic. “I’m not asking you to apologize. I don’t want to restrain you. Or limit your happiness. I’m sorry for shouting.” He paused, giving himself a moment to gather his thoughts. “But, this can’t continue. You do see that, right? You can’t go out with these men, not if you want your father to consider the validity of our relationship. I can’t be the only one committed here.”

     There was a moment of silence, and then, when Varric was beginning to regret his words of condescension, Bianca finally spoke.

    “I can’t believe you just said that.” Bianca, leaned dejectedly over the railing to the terrace. “Maker. What little you think of me.”

     “Bianca.” Varric said, rushing forward to amended for his thoughtless remark. “I—”

     AHEM.

     Behind Varric, there was a slight commotion. In the insanity of the fight, Master Davri had exited the estate and onto the terrace. Although Varric had no inkling of his arrival, Varric hoped it had been recent.

    Master Davri wasn’t alone. He was accompanied by a young man, short in stature, but bulky. For a moment, Varric was reminded of the thugs he met earlier that day. Noble, but out of place. The man caught Varric’s eye and immediately retreated toward the ground. Based on his reaction, Varric supposed he’d heard, at least, a fraction of his and Bianca’s fight.

     Ah. At least that explained the awkwardness.   

     “I do hope I am not interrupting anything.” Master Davri apologized and succeeded at sounding genuine. But, Varric knew better; he was very good at reading people. Master Davri was delighted by their fight, but made significant effort to hide it. Which, at the very least, he didn’t have to do. Despite Varric's frustrations, he appreciated Master Davri’s attempt at lying.

     “No, father.” Bianca faced him with a faux smile, an equally good liar. “You’re never an intrusion.”

     “Ah, Bianca, my dear. How you delight me.” He beamed, pleased by her little show. He approached her with open arms, guiding her away from Varric and toward this new presence. “Your mother and I were relaxing in the lounge, and would you believe it; we were greeted by another visitor.”

    “Hello.” The man said, shaking off the earlier awkwardness. “It’s an honor to make your acquaintance, Bianca.”

    Then, with total disregard of Varric’s presence, he reached forward and placed a kiss atop Bianca’s outstretched hand.

     “Bogdan is under my employ. A good lad. A hard worker. Can you believe it my dear? Two guests in one week, what a coincidence.”

     “A coincidence indeed.” Varric grumbled darkly.

     “I’m afraid I cannot stay long. I’m going to a party, see. One of Lord Harimann’s bashes. I’ve been wanting to attend for ages, but your father and I’ve been hard at work. Hardly ever a night off.”

     “Oh!” Master Davri crooned. “I’ve heard only good about Lord Harimann. Bianca’s always been a joy at parties—quite the dancer, she is. Doesn’t that sound lovely, darling.”

    “Yes.” Bianca agreed, halfheartedly. She still played her father’s game, but the pretense was wearing thin. “What fun.”

     “Why, I’ve just had an idea.” Master Davri said, splaying his fingers in a mock fit of inspiration “Why don’t you accompany Bogdan to Lord Harimann’s. That is, If Bogdan would have you.”

      “Of course.” Bogdan said. “It would be my pleasure to be accompanied by such a fine young woman. I could wish for nothing more.”  

     “Wait just a moment.” Varric said, pushing forward toward the Davris and Bogdan. “I’d like a word with Bianca. In private.”

      “Darling?” Master Davri smiled, unfazed by Varric’s interruption. “What do you think about Bogdan’s invitation?”

     “I—One moment father.” Bianca said, allowing herself to be pulled by Varric several feet away and out of earshot. “I’ll be right back.”

     When they were semi-alone, Varric spoke. Voice low, to not be overheard. “Don’t let him push you about. Don’t let him decide what you want and when you want it. Do it _right_ this time. Tell him no, for us.”

     “We can talk later.” Bianca said, coolly. “But, for now, I’d like you to go home.”

     “Bianca! You can’t seriously—”

     “I said,” Bianca repeated. “That I wanted you to leave.”

      And so, Varric did the only thing he could do. He went home.

 

Chapter 3: The Amell Psychic Institute

      Varric began his trek down to Lowtown, both dejected and frustrated. He was angry with Bianca, certainly, but he didn’t resent her. She was his Beloved. And he didn’t mean to put her under such strain. In part, he understood her decision to accompany Bogdan. Her heart was dedicated to Varric, he knew it to be true. But, he’d hurt her. And, really, he couldn’t fault her for returning the favor. At his core, Varric was jealous. It wasn’t unheard of. Even in the most epic of poetry, jealousy and love were intertwined.

     As were love and hate, it seemed. And, in the moment, Varric was having difficulty distinguishing between the two where Master Davri was concerned. True, he’d never been fond of Varric. But, Varric thought he’d earn that approval, with time. But tonight, Bogdan was the final nail in the coffin. Master Davri was done waiting. Varric saw Bogdan for what he was—a threat. Varric still wasn’t enough for his daughter. And, now Varric was on a deadline.

     Varric, ever the optimist, hoped he still had time. He could do it. Find a way into Hightown. He had to, now. He couldn’t lose Bianca. Varric had said it before, Master Davri was not an impossible man. And, if he had made his decision—there was no way to be certain. Varric couldn’t see into the future. All Varric could do was continue to try. 

     On the top step, leaving Hightown, Varric skidded to a halt. Varric couldn’t see into the future. Of that, he was certain. But, he knew a witch—Seer—that maybe could. And, he knew where to find her.

    Despite the late hour, Varric turned tail and headed back into Hightown. Varric hoped he hadn’t genuinely insulted Isabela with his previous rejection. Though, he could hardly blame himself for reacting as he had. It was lunacy, Varric knew that. Witchcraft was all smoke and mirrors; attractive fiction with no substance. But, despite all logic, Varric found himself wondering. Not believing, per se. But, not entirely skeptical. It was a wonder what desperation could do to a psyche.

    After several minutes of near sprinting, Varric found himself standing in front of the looming visage of the “Amell Institute”. He took a moment, regaining his breath before pushing onward. At night, the shabbiness of the building was less blatant. It just looked like any other mansion on the block.

    Varric pushed opened the front gate with a SCREECH and approached. On the way to the hearth, he passed by the lavish garden. Which, on second glance, was less lavish, and more mysterious under the dark of night. Varric cupped the dragon maw knocker, which he found quite novel, and rhythmically tapped it against the oak of the front door. 

     Before the count of 10, the front door swung open. In the doorway stood a man, dark haired and broad shouldered—the man was of obvious Kirkwallian heritage. He had long, shaggy hair that curled around his ears and brushed against his eyelashes. He was dressed in a royal red bathrobe, but despite his state of undress, the man seemed at ease. Upon catching sight of Varric, he squinted, appraising. 

     “You’re here for a reading?” The man asked.

     “I’m—” Varric began, unsure how to explain. A woman with a knife had threatened him. But, also, kind of offered to read his future? It wasn’t the most sensible explanation. But, while Varric was determining the best approach, the man interrupted him.

     “Okay! So, not here for a reading.” The man smiled, leaning casually against the door frame. “Well, it’s after hours, anyway. So…” He began easing the door shut, smile never fading from his face. “Nice chatting!”

     “Wait just a moment.” Varric said, wedging his boot into the doorway. He succeeded in stopping the door just in time. Varric now felt pressure upon his big toe. “I met a woman.”

     “Lucky you!” The man said, pushing harder against Varric. “Goodnight.”

     “A woman who lives here.” Varric clarified, annoyance creeping into his voice. “May I speak with her?”

     “Hmm.” The man, recognizing his loss, re-opened the door. He tapped at his chin, somewhat comically, before responding. “Was she Rivani? Deadly? Could—and _would_ — cut you with a knife?”

     “Spot on.” Varric said. “Isabela, I believe.”

     “She’s not interested.” The man said curtly.

     “I’m sorry. What?” Varric asked, taken aback.

    “Go home pal. She’s not—”

      Varric, growing tired of the frequent interruption, interrupted the talkative man for a turn. “I met her on the street. She threatened to rob me. I helped her frighten a band of children. And then, afterward, offered me tea. I’m not here to court her. I just want my cup.”

    “You want Isabela… to give you tea?” The man asked, clearly confused. “But, you _don’t_ want a reading? You do know that’s kind of her specialty, right? Tasseomancy? Major Seer stuff.” 

        Varric’s shoulders slumped. This wasn’t going anywhere. “You’re right—my apologies.” Now, face to face with the madness of the Amell Estate, and this infuriating man, Varric was beginning to feel foolish. He regretted coming in the first place. Making his decision, Varric pulled his boot out of the doorframe. “This was a mistake.”

     The man fixed him a doubtful stare. “Well, hold on. I didn’t mean to set you off. Maker. If it’s tea you want. I can make you a cup. No need to sulk. What do you say?”

     The man, grinning wildly, didn’t wait for an answer. He abandoned his post, no longer manning the door. He disappeared inside the house, leaving the door wide open behind him. Varric took the open door to be an invitation, and followed the man into the house. Not entirely sure what he was doing. Or why he was doing it. 

      Varric shut the door behind him, finding himself in a large sitting room. The walls, a hideous pea green, were oddly bare, peppered with strange stains and markings. Two large windows, both facing outward toward the street, were draped with deep red fabric. The floor, in a much better state than the walls, were freshly polished. Varric, lost in the adornment of the room, mindlessly followed the man deeper into the mansion. They passed the sitting room into a shrouded hallway. It opened into a small kitchen.

      Varric and the man, who, shortly after, identified himself as “Hawke”, began to chat idly in the Kitchen. Hawke prepared the tea, while commenting on the trivial matter of the weather, and the implication for the garden out front.

     “I grow this very tea in that garden.” Hawke stated, matter-of-factly. “Been doing it for half a decade. I try to stock up for the winter. Have you seen the price for decent tea in Hightown, it’s outrageous! I’m almost tempted to slum it in Lowtown, just to save a gold piece or two.”

    “Uh, right.” Varric said, thrown by Hawke’s sudden enthusiasm. Varric took a seat at the small kitchen table. “Does it help?”

     “Does what help?” Hawke asked, pulling out a wooden box from a nearby cupboard. He opened it, and pulled out a kettle: deep jade with a glossy finish.

    “Growing your own tea. Does it help with the reading?” Varric asked. “Is there a—erm—spiritual connection. Or, whatever.”

     Hawke snorted, and gifted Varric a fond smile. Varric froze, unaware of what he did to deserve it.  “Oh. I don’t read the tea!” He lit a match, and placed the kettle atop a small fireplace. “That’s Isabela’s specialty, not mine. I’m just the lowly gardener. And, tea enthusiast.”

     “But you’re a Seer?” Varric asked, confused.

     “Nope.” Hawke said, still smiling. “My kid sister is, though. So, it’s in my bloodline. BUT, I’m here all the time. I’ve picked up psychic stuff here and there. I can give a half-decent tarot reading. Although, that will cost you extra.” Hawke said with a flirty wiggle of the eyebrows.

     “You’re not a Seer. And you don’t live here?” Varric asked, exhausted with this ridiculous man. “But, you answered the door in a bathrobe!”

     Hawke laughed again, booming and gut deep. “Like I said. I’m here a lot. Don’t bring it up in front of Isabela, though. She’s always on my ass about loitering in her place of business.” Hawke sat down at the small table, across from Varric.  

     “I try to make myself useful. A tarot reading here. A bit of gardening there. Today, I insulated a window.” Hawke paused, and nodded at Varric. “But, you know all about that. What happened there?”

     So, Varric told him. He told Hawke about the youth. And Isabela’s knife. And, how, he sent one scampering away, banged up. Varric, although not intending to, embellished bits and pieces of the story. He was a storyteller after all, and couldn’t help himself. After several minutes, the teapot came to a whine, and Hawke went to retrieve it. They two of them sat, across from each other, and sipped at their tea.

     “Not bad.” Varric said, and smiled at Hawke. “My compliments to the gardener.”

     Hawke, about to reply, was interrupted. But, this time, not by Varric.   

     “I thought I heard the kettle.” Isabela said from the doorway. She eyed the scene in front of her. “Why didn’t you call me down?” She stopped, catching sight of Varric. “Oh! It’s you. The Valiant Idiot! You came for tea, after all. I’m glad.”

     Isabela strode into the kitchen, deftly approaching Hawke. She kissed him softly atop the forehead, and then poured herself a cup of tea. “You covered up the window. Thank you. I’ll send for someone to fix it tomorrow. But, until then, I’m glad to be without the draft. It’s cooler day by day. Before you know it, winter will be upon us.”

     Hawke hummed, thoughtful, and, when Isabela turned her back, winked at Varric. “Happy to help. It’s why you keep me around.”

     Isabela, snorting at Hawke, situated herself at the table, electing to sit in the empty seat between Hawke and Varric. She brought the teacup level to her chin, and inhaled a thick wall of steam. After a moment of silently sipping her tea, Isabela turned to face Varric.

     “Okay, out with it. How was your date?” Isabela asked.

     “You’re a Seer.” Varric said, amused. “Shouldn’t you know?”

     She frowned, and put down her cup. He recognized his rudeness, and immediately regretted it. It was, seemingly, a common theme for him tonight. Varric couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “A Seer, yes. But, a mind reader? No.” She tilted her half-full cup toward herself. “Drink up. Afterward, I shall have my answer.”   

     Varric did as instructed. He finished the cup over conversation, more talk about the garden, and placed it atop the table when he’d downed the last sip. Curious, he glanced at the remnants. He tried, but failed, to discern any obvious shapes. After a moment, Isabela spoke up.

     “May I try?” She asked, smirking into her own cup.

     Embarrassment flushed across Varric’s face, and he handed it over. Isabela, eyes locked on Varric, flicked her wrist thrice, swirling the contents of the cup. She tipped the remaining liquid into the saucer, and placed the cup upside-down on the table.  

     “Well?” Varric asked, his curiosity at war with his skepticism. “What does it say?”

     “In a moment. We need to settle something first.” Isabela said, waving her wrist in a flippant motion. “Your date went poorly. I don’t need the Leaves to tell me that. You would not be here otherwise. It’s written all over your face.” Isabela ran her index finger in a circular motion across the upturned base of the teacup. “You may not believe in my craft, and I take no offense, but I will not be dismissed so easily.”

     “That’s quite honest.” Varric began, unsure how to address her. “And not what I expected to hear.”

     “No?” Isabela asked, but did not press for additional detail. Instead, she leaned over the cup and flipped it upright.

     “You will embark on a journey.” Isabela said, after a moment of examination. “A difficult journey. One marked by large and sudden change.”

     “And the outcome of said journey?” Varric asked with caution. “What are we talking? Good, I hope?”

     “It’s…unclear.” Isabela said with a shrug. “You are far too concerned with the present. You have given me nothing of your distant future.”

    To Varric, that sounded like an accusation. However, he doubted Isabela meant it to be. “I could try again.” Varric suggested, reaching toward the center of the table for the teapot. “Really focus outward, or whatever.”

     “You could certainly try.” Isabela laughed, apparently amused by Varric’s naivety. “But, a new outcome would be unlikely. We are very rarely so far separated from our inner truth.”

     “Inner truth?” Varric asked, but received nothing in the way of an explanation from Isabela nor Hawke.

     “Protection, care, and strength; stretched out.” Isabela said, referring again to Varric’s cup. “An influence in your life. An endless source of joy and love.”

      “My Beloved, obviously.” Varric said with a grin. “Should I be impressed?”

     “I don’t know. Are you?” Isabela smiled, still playful. Varric, already doubtful of her craft, wasn’t reassured. However, he let her continue. “Success; through both industry and perseverance. Your daily duty. You will rise to a position of trust.”

     Ah. Perfect.

     Varric saw her game, then. Isabela, even with her earlier honesty, was telling Varric exactly what he wanted to hear. She was a good storyteller, he’d give her that. But, Isabela was no more ‘gifted’ than Varric himself. He was right to be skeptical.

     She couldn’t help him.

     “No.” Hawke said, furrowing his heavy brow. His interjection was too quiet; Varric wasn’t certain it was for the audience. “That’s not right.”

     “No?” Isabela asked, initially incredulous, but ultimately curious. “Tell us Hawke. What do you see? Defend your doubt.” She pushed the cup to her left; it now rested on the table in front of Hawke. “If not trust, then what?”   

     “I don’t think—” Hawke paused, lifting the cup to eyelevel. “It’s a cannon. A symbol of extreme emotion.” He put the cup down, and bore into Varric. “You’re being threatened. Threatened, in a rather unsatisfactory manner.”

     What?

     Varric froze. Certainly, Hawke hadn’t just—It wasn’t possible? How could Hawke have known?

     “It’s small.” Hawke nodded to the abandoned cup, pushing through the stunned silence. “Smaller than it should be. You don’t have a lot of time. You’ll be forced to make a choice. One that will bring about significant change.”

     Everything Isabela said had been pure speculation. Comforting, but still speculation. But Hawke? He spoke with such certainty. In fact, he spoke with an urgency that threatened to exceed Varric’s own.

     “You’re a Seer.” Varric said, quietly. A bit betrayed, although Varric knew he had no right to feel that way. He hardly knew Hawke. Hawke didn’t owe him the truth. Varric, still wildly baffled, didn’t know why he expected otherwise. “Why lie about it?”

     “I’m not.” Hawke said, flushed pink. “I can’t read the Leaves. Not very well. But, I do spend a great deal of time with Isabela. And…with the cannon. I saw it. And I just thought—” He stopped mid-sentence. “Never mind.”

     “What?” Varric asked, tossing his skepticism to the curb. “The cup is mine. It’s my future we’re talking about. Don’t you think I have a right to know?”

     “It’s like I said.” Hawke said, forceful. “I can’t read it. Not like Isabela can.”

     “I don’t believe you.” Varric huffed.

     “Then, that is your prerogative.” Hawke huffed in return, turning away from the cup. “But, I’ve said my part on the matter.”

      Hawke stood from the table, jittery. He cleared it hastily, placing each teacup in a large wash bin by the entryway. Varric, mouth ajar, wasn’t entirely certain what had just happened. By the look of Hawke, he wasn’t certain either.

     “It’s getting late. I should probably head home. It’s a bit of a ways to the West side. Mother will be worried. “Hawke said, as if Varric hadn’t just lost his temper. “Fenris has invited me out for a spot of afternoon hunting tomorrow. I’ll be outside the city, just past the Sundermount Caverns. All this to say: when Bethany returns—"

     “I’ll let her know.” Isabela said, knowingly. She had picked up on the awkwardness, and was trying to move away from it.

     “Thank you.” Hawke said, nodding at her. “Send for me if you need anything.”

     “I have my knives, Hawke. I can care for myself.”

     “That, I do know,” Hawke said. He smirked and ran a thumb along a silver scar on the underside of his chin. Isabela scoffed at the implication, and motioned impatiently for him to come over. Varric wasn’t certain, but there seemed to be a story there.

     Hawke, approaching her, pulled off his large bathrobe. Varric was surprised to see, that underneath, Hawke was dressed in a rather lavish tunic. He reached out to Isabela, who pulled out a thick black cloak from the hallway closet. She helped him into it, maneuvering the fine felt atop Hawke’s bulky frame.

     After he was dressed appropriately for the weather, Hawke turned to face Varric. He pushed a hand forward, palm outward. Varric stood, accepting Hawke’s departure, and took his hand in a firm handshake. “Best of luck to you, Varric.” Hawke whispered, and pulled away. “I’m sure Bianca will come around. Just give her time.”

     “I—thank you.” Varric said, uncomfortable. The evening had gotten rather personal, and Varric was glad it was almost to a close. “Goodnight, then.”

     “Goodnight.”

     Shortly after Hawke departed, Varric followed suit. He wished Isabela well, who responded with a cryptic “I’ll be seeing you”, before ushering him outside and into the cold November night.

     The walk back to Lowtown was far less frantic, with the oddity of the night overwhelming the previous feelings of jealousy and urgency. Although, there was a thought nagging at Varric that he couldn’t quite reach. Varric wrote it off.

     It wasn’t until later that evening, when Varric was warm and tucked away in the Tethras Manor, that Varric realized it.

     “ _Bianca will come around_.”

      He played Hawke’s departure over and over in his head.

     “ _Bianca_.”

     “ _Bianca_.”

     “ _Bianca_.”

     Varric was certain, even more certain than before, that Hawke knew more than he let on. Because, Varric had been careful. And, all night, he hadn’t once used her name.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, I hope you’ve enjoyed thus far calysto1395! You can probably tell, but this isn’t finished. I intend to have act 2 up before February. Your prompt was crazy fun, and I’ve had an excellent time working on it. Let me know what you think below!


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